


Ask No Adds

by Cahaya (Tarlaith)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Angst, Glory Hole, Guilt, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Self-Hatred, Shame, Smut, promptfill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlaith/pseuds/Cahaya
Summary: Goodnight is desperate. Billy makes sure he doesn't get hurt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:  
> "Goody is a repeat user of glory-holes, desperate to get fucked and too ashamed of the fact to take a lover. (bonus points if whoever fucks him knows it's him and is doing it because they know if someone random found out, Goody could get hurt?)"  
> originally posted on the  Mag7 2016 kink meme 
> 
> Since I (recklessly) agreed to write a sequel, I thought putting it up here for archive purposes might be a good idea. ;)
> 
> "ask no adds" = cowboy-speak for "ask no favors"  
> Beta-ed by the wonderful Random Interloper!

Goodnight's heels clicked loudly on the floorboards of the dark closet – far louder than in the saloon, at least, and he was so tense that it almost made him change his mind. But the night was not young any more, and the people at the bar – including Billy – were hopefully far too drunk to have seen him leave in a different direction than the rented room. Goodnight himself was just inebriated enough to convince himself that the whispers of doubt and shame in the back of his mind were merely background noise from the musicians.

He hadn't planned on coming here. But then again, he never really did. Planning involved thinking about what he was going to do here, which was a surefire way to lose his breakfast, or any other previously ingested meal, along with his nerves.

Even now he felt dizzy, the world blurring around the edges in a way that only nausea could. At the same time he could already feel his cock harden, brushing shyly against the fabric of his pants.  
Goodnight closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his mouth until the pounding in his head had eased back enough to be ignored, then he bolted the door and lighted a match. Finally being able to look around, he noticed that the closet didn't look much different than other closets kept for these kinds of special purposes. It was barely big enough to fit three people, not overly clean, with muddy boot-prints on the floor and cobwebs in every corner. To his right stood a small stool, as high as his boots, with a half-burned-down white candle and an open box of what looked like shoe-polish mixed with a liberal amount of strong butter.

Goodnight grimaced, suddenly very glad he had brought his own slick, despite the risks. Should he be discovered with something like that in his pocket... actually, he probably deserved whatever they chose to do to him. Twice over.

He lit the candle and turned to the other side of the closet. There was a hole in the wall, about as big as his palm and low enough he had to kneel to see through it. Right now, it was stuffed with a thick piece of cloth, but he knew exactly where it led: the outhouse, at the back of the saloon. Most men didn't fancy a trip that far to relieve themselves – those who came here came for a purpose. Something so depraved and wicked they couldn't do in broad daylight.

Goodnight swallowed thickly against the sudden, hot rush that pulsed through his loins. There was an obvious bulge between his legs now. The vague longing in his belly turned into a deep, aching emptiness that could only be soothed one way.

Biting his lip, he fumbled to open his pants and shoved them down to his ankles. His hands shook as he pulled out the flask and dribbled the oil over three of his fingers. It warmed quickly to his skin, and with only the slightest second of hesitation Goodnight sank to his knees and brought the first finger to his hole. The muscle was hard, clenched shut, a tiny wine red pucker, which he knew from looking at himself in the mirror – another thing he avoided these days. Goodnight pressed the pad of his index finger against it, rubbing it slightly and reminded himself to relax. The first entry always felt strange, always required a little force, hurt a tiny bit. His body tried to expel the intruder on instinct, but he pushed past it, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly.

Once it was in, it didn't feel so bad any more. He wriggled his finger cautiously, searching for lingering pain, then thrust a few times to get his hole used to the sensation. Between his legs, he could feel his prick swelling to fullness, throbbing now, hard and heavy.

Goodnight pulled out the first finger to add another one, faster this time, one smooth, clean thrust. It stung, but at the same time was such a relief that he couldn't suppress the raw moan that spilled out of his mouth. And Christ, hearing such a wanton sound coming from himself made his cheeks burn all over again. He had tried to stop this, vowed not to come back again and again, but it never took more than a few weeks for that resolve to crumble into a hundred tiny pieces. He needed this. More than air to breathe, more than whiskey to forget the horrors of the war.

Finding Billy had comforted him for a while, made the urge less pressing, but not even a friendship like theirs could make him feel whole. He needed to be held down, taken, filled with another man's seed, until it spilled out of his hole to run down his naked thighs in sticky, glistening rivulets – and oh, what an utter failure of a man he was.

 

-

 

Billy had been lying with his head on his arms, feigning drunkenness, when Goodnight got up and dropped a few coins on the table to settle their tab. Rather more thoughtful than he tended to be after what must've been half a bottle of whiskey, although Billy had stepped out a few times during the course of the night and not seen him drink all of it.

The rest of the small saloon's patrons were either passed out or still drinking happily, except for the barkeeper, who puffed his pipe with supreme indifference. Apparently after seeing so much alcohol every day, the need to drink it vanished. Billy watched Goodnight pointedly stagger towards the stairs, but then turn to the other side at the last moment, suddenly sure-footed.

So it was one of those nights.

Billy cast a look around but none of the other guests seemed to have noticed, even though there had to be at least some who knew about this establishment's special... service. Like the burly guy with the beard that looked like he had squeezed a chicken to death with his chin alone. Billy had seen him walk around to the back of the saloon a few times, only to come back with a grim look on his face. Just that moment, the guy turned his head towards where Goodnight had disappeared and Billy's mind was set. There was no way he would let someone like that lay even a finger on Goodnight, much less anything else.

Pushing back the chair, Billy got up, collected his jacket and nodded to the barkeeper as he stepped out into the night. Cold air blew into his face, clearing the smoke out of his nose and lungs and maybe his head.

The town was asleep around him – people, horses and livestock alike – the only light came from the stars and moon above his head. He used it to pick his way down the front porch and through the shadows between the buildings, to a small gap in the wooden fence that separated the backyard from the plains behind it. Although the space was probably more of an outdoor storeroom, judging from the broken furniture and empty barrels someone had carelessly stacked here. To be repaired later, Billy assumed, dodging a mound of logs to find the outhouse. The door was open a small fraction, and thankfully, there was no one inside. Billy slipped in and took a look around. There was a plank missing from the roof, at the perfect angle to let in a streak of moonlight. It fell right onto a hole in the wall, at about the height of his crotch, stuffed with some cloth.

Billy locked the door and paused. He never knew how much time Goodnight needed to prepare himself, and was hesitant to knock immediately. Asking was out of the question, of course, because Goodnight would recognize his voice. Billy decided to make himself known just when there was a sudden, raw noise from the other side. A moan. Billy was certain of it; the music that managed to reach out here was so faint it could have been a memory.

Resolving to not make this any more awkward than it already was, he knocked on the wall. For a painfully long moment, all sound ceased. There was a rustle somewhere close, and then the cloth was pulled aside. A flask of golden liquid appeared in the opening, cradled by pale, scraggy fingers that were unmistakably Goodnight's, then disappeared again.

Billy understood. He opened his pants and pulled out his limp dick. The first time he had done this, after following Goodnight a few times, it had taken some effort to get hard at all. Outhouses and backrooms were not exactly Billy's favorite places for a shag, there was always an inexplicable cold that seemed to linger. But a few strokes from his own hand where enough to get his cock rising in interest. Once he was half-hard, he guided it through the hole.

Warm hands received him; he could feel them shaking as they slicked up his prick, quickly, but with unmistakable gentleness that made something in Billy's chest constrict. He forced himself to stay in place, keep on his side of the wall despite the sudden desire to call out to Goodnight, get him out of here and up into their room, on a real bed, like he deserved. What a picture he would make, his long body spilled over the covers, legs spread wide, cock standing proudly from blonde curls.

Billy would take his time, pepper licks and bites all the way down Goodnight's chest, dip his tongue in the hollow of his belly-button while working him open. He would kiss praises against his skin, curling two fingers inside until Goodnight squirmed, beautifully flushed, mouth slack with pleasure. Even in Billy's mind the image was enough to tempt sin herself.

But then he remembered the haunted look that would linger in Goodnight's eyes tomorrow, one he knew far too well. Goodnight was ashamed of these desires he couldn't fight, and only dared to come here because he thought Billy didn't know.

 

-

 

The stranger's cock was uncut and curved, darker in color than Goodnight's own, and deliciously thick. It twitched in his fingers, and finally Goodnight couldn't restrain himself any longer. He leaned down and sucked it into his mouth, all of it, fighting not to choke from the girth. The taste of oil flooded his mouth, harsh and musty. From the other side of the wall he heard a gasp.

Reassured, Goodnight began sucking, relishing the weight that pressed his tongue down the way he wanted his whole body to be pinned. This was the next best thing, and Goodnight braced his hands against the wall to keep from touching himself. It was uncomfortable, but he wouldn't last long enough if he did.

He didn't get to suck as long as he wanted to, anyway. There was a sudden, sharp thud on the wall, and the stranger withdrew from his mouth. Goodnight whined, but got up on shaky legs and pulled over the stool to brace himself as he bent over. This was the most difficult part – aligning everything just so, fitting them together like lock and key despite the wall between them.  
He reached behind himself, guiding the tip of the stranger's cock to his hole. Then he pushed backwards, groaning. It was far thicker than two fingers, every inch burned, but he rocked onto it anyway, far too greedy to go slow.

The stranger didn't seem to care to wait, thrusting in the first chance he got, not giving Goodnight time to adjust. Goodnight covered his mouth with his hands, trying to catch the yelp that was startled out of him as he fought to hold still. He could feel his ass clench around the slide, that thick cock opening him up again with every thrust, fucking into him with as much force as possible. Goodnight tried to struggle at first, to push down the pleasure, remembering the whispers he had heard, even shared, in quiet moments with boys his age: nasty, disgusting, depraved.

But then the stranger shifted slightly, changing the angle, and the next stroke went in so deep it send a searing hot wave sparking through his body. Goodnight bit down a curse and tried to spread his legs further apart, but his feet were bound by the pants he had neglected to completely remove. He could only open his thighs, bending at the knee. It was a precarious position, and humiliating too, he would never be able to look at his own face again – but he was so _full_ now and it felt _so good_.

The stranger hit that same spot again and Goodnight finally gave in with a cry. He hung his head, panting, clutching hard at the stool to keep standing. Sounds he would never admit to spilled from his lips – praises and curses and moans and shouts. When he opened his eyes he could see his flushed cock dripping between his shaking knees. Christ, how filthy this was, miles away from a rut in the dirt with a fellow soldier, and he loved it, _craved_ it, he was so close to bursting without even touching himself once. He just needed one final push, but he couldn't, he'd fall over the moment he tried to move.

Whimpering, he clenched around the cock inside him, and he could tell it caught the stranger off-guard. The man jerked once, twice, and came with a groan. The burst of hot wetness inside him did it, his whole body going rigid, and the sudden, violent release wrenched a hoarse sob from Goodnight. He shot his seed all over the floor in white, glittering stripes, and he could hear the soft splashing despite the roar in his ears.

It was all he was aware of for a while, the thunder of his own blood, faintly hoping the stranger would wait for Goodnight to come back to reality before he pulled out. No such luck, though, the softening cock withdrew from him, slipping out effortlessly.

Goodnight stood frozen, unable to move because he wasn't quite sure he could without planting his face in his own cum. The emptiness returned with vengeance, even stronger than it had been earlier, but before it could settle in his gut two fingers thrust into him, hard and deep, curling against the spot inside him. Goodnight yowled at the sharp pleasure-pain that sliced through him, and his knees buckled. The fingers left him, smearing spunk up the crack of his ass.

Goodnight was still shuddering on the floor when he heard the door of the outhouse creak, and the stranger's footsteps disappeared in the distance.

 

-

 

The next morning, Goodnight found Billy at the stables, leading his horse out of the round-pen. He looked up and smiled when he saw Goodnight. “About time you're up. Sleep well?”

“Uh,” Goodnight swallowed. It had taken him a while to get his bearings, and another half an hour to limp up to their room. He was still sore now, just enough to remind him of last night. “Yeah. Thanks for not waking me up.”

Billy shrugged and mounted his horse. “They say I can't outrun the sheriff. He's supposed to be the best rider in the area.” His lips curled into a grin that had Goodnight's stomach do a giddy little flip. They shared a look, and then Goodnight mirrored it, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time. “How much do I want to bet that you can?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the dirtiest thing I've ever written.  
> Yes, sequel coming up.
> 
> Big thanks to Random Interloper for beta-ing! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodnight makes a mistake and Billy takes the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for these prompts:  
> "a time Billy tries to get there first, but someone else is there, and he's outside quietly panicking because he can't just PULL the guy out, he might hurt Goody! So he waits, and stupidly doesn't think to hide, the guy comes out there's a moment of "oh shit this guy knows why I was here" and they fight, he gets a good punch in because of Billy's shock at how stupid he's just been, and later on has to find some excuse as to why he's got a black eye. Whether Goody HEARD the fight or not, well that's up to you. :3"  
> &  
> "Maybe one time someone else gets there first and Goody does end up getting hurt for it? He's trying to hide it afterwards ofc, and Billy's going out of his mind having to pretend he doesn't know exactly what happened"  
> both originally posted on the **Mag7 kink meme**.
> 
> Additionally, I would like to warn you that his part contains plot! (-:
> 
> Big thanks to Random Interloper for beta-ing (again)! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

The day their friendship took a dive was just the dreadful conclusion to a week of disasters. Billy and Goodnight had run into a detachment of land surveyors employed by the railway on Tuesday. On Wednesday morning, the Apache decided that this intrusion into their territory would not be tolerated. The ensuing fight reminded Billy of a rumble at the butcher's. He had never seen Indians take scalps before - and by the God he didn't believe in, he didn't want to see it again.

They made it out alive, mostly thanks to Goodnight's incessant paranoia – he'd refused to let the horses graze freely, and the animals were still close when the Apache arrived. Still, it was only luck that saved them from a tomahawk to the back.

That night Goodnight predictably woke up screaming, and it was the first time he ever pulled a gun on Billy. His eyes went round as saucers upon realizing his error and he launched into an apology in rapid-fire French ere Billy could get a word in. The following night he insisted on sleeping without the gun, which resulted in no sleep at all. Instead of falling asleep on his horse the next day, Goodnight seemed even more keyed up than before. His hands were twitching, he shifted restlessly in his saddle, and by noon the corners of his mouth were red with blood. Goodnight had an annoying habit of biting the inside of his own cheeks when stressed. As soon as he saw that Billy had noticed, he stopped talking altogether, and avoided Billy's eyes.

“You need to sleep,” Billy said, halting his horse.

“I'm fine.”

“There's a town just a few miles west from here.”

“I'm _fine_ , Billy,” Goodnight griped and then flinched. “Look, if you're worried about the gun, you can take it.”

Billy snorted. “You couldn't shoot someone if you wanted to. The only difference is that like this, you can't even run.” He turned his horse and pointedly ignored the muffled cusses.

 

-

 

The town was slightly larger than the tiny hamlets they usually stopped in: it didn't merely have one main road, but two, intersecting in the middle to form a cross. The houses were all clean, fronts lining the roads with almost no space between them. Only the slightly crooked bell tower of the local church didn't quite fit the picture.

Billy reined in his horse at the first corral they passed, and a man walked up to them. “You fellas stayin'?”

“Passing through,” Goodnight said with false cheer. “Any chance our trusty steeds can get some water while we take a look around?”

The man nodded, and Goodnight handed him a coin, sliding out of his saddle. Billy mirrored him, took his saddle bags and watched the man lead both horses away. When he was out of sight, Goodnight turned to Billy and rubbed his hands together. “Now that that's taken care of, why don't we –”

“Inn's over there,” Billy interrupted.

“Inn is... Oh, c'mon!”

“I mean it. Go to sleep,” Billy said, kicking up dust from the road as he walked straight past Goodnight, who followed him and grabbed his arm. “What? And waste our chance to make good money?”

“We don't need money.”

“People always need money.”

“We can make money tomorrow. You're stalling.” Billy climbed the steps of the Inn's front porch and swept through the door. 

Goodnight threw his hands up behind him. “And you're being unreasonable!”

Thankfully, he shut up while Billy negotiated a room for them – shared, of course. They had enough money to get by for now, but that was never an excuse to toss it out with both hands. The owner of the inn handed them the keys and settled back into his armchair to finish his cigarette, filling the room with a heavy, flowery scent. Billy scrunched up his nose and was just about to say something unfriendly about the consequences of opium addiction when Goodnight pulled at his sleeve. There was a sunken tiredness in the lines around his eyes. “I can't sleep now, I just can't. Leave it be.”

The tone was meant to be pleading, but Billy still felt his hackles rise. Sometimes, Goodnight's pig-headedness made him want to strangle the man. He shoved the saddlebags at him and pointed towards the stairs. “ _Bonne nuit_. Don't shoot anybody.”

 

-

 

Goodnight rolled onto the other side and forced himself to lie still. Sleep was elusive, and god, how he hated it. It wasn't that he didn't _feel_ tired, because he did, but somehow the light streaming through the window was obnoxiously bright and his lids burned orange every time he tried to close his eyes. As if that weren't bad enough already, the seam of his pants was digging into his belly, despite the fact that he'd taken off his jacket, vest and belt before lying down. Groaning, he pressed his face into the pillow and immediately had to sneeze. The sound was so loud it seemed to shake the walls, or maybe that was just his nerves.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the crack in the ceiling, wondering how long he'd been lying here already. Not long enough for Billy to come back, obviously, but enough for the silence to creep in. With it came the memories, blurry images turning sharper with each moment, perhaps to distract Goodnight from his boredom.

Suddenly, every creak of the floorboards sounded like an army wagon, and every step of boots on the front porch became a canon shot. Beneath the blankets it was so hot, he felt as if he were back in Louisiana, sweat beading on his forehead, mouth tasting of copper.

Goodnight curled in on himself, facing the wall, and tried to breathe around the thick lump in his throat. And how ironic was that – stuffed full of guilt in his throat, but carved out hollow further down. God, how empty he felt.

But the last time he'd... done something about it had only been a few weeks ago. Usually he lasted twice that long, up to two or three months if he was lucky, all the while telling himself it never happened and would never happen again.

Christ, his mother would turn in her grave if she knew, or maybe not. Maybe she'd just lie still and mourn the fact that she never had a son. Because an abomination like him could never be anyone's child, he knew that. He _knew_.

There was a throb in his loins and Goodnight stifled a whimper. His hole was burning, as if he were sore. He clenched his fists in the sheets, but the heated lust scouring through him refused to dissipate. Instead, the tension made his hips rut forward, meeting nothing but empty air. Biting his lip, Goodnight pushed down the blanket and shakily got to his feet, already fumbling for the oil in his saddle bags.

He needed...

 

-

 

On his stumble through the world – because in this foreign country, it seemed to be all he ever did: stumbling on words, on jokes, on tidbits of culture he could neither understand nor reproduce – Billy had met a lot of people. Very few of them were as friendly as the inhabitants of this town, with 'friendly' only meaning 'not overly hostile'. But the shop-owner didn't refuse to sell him something outright, and the boys he tasked with cleaning his saddle grinned at him, happy to earn a coin.

Billy watched them for a while, waiting for Goodnight to fall asleep. It probably would take some time, but he counted on the exhaustion to knock his friend out quickly. Night was already falling when he made his way back to the inn. The owner was nowhere to be seen, so he left the door open to clear out the smell of burned flowers. It reminded him a bit too clearly of San Francisco, and the fact that white men never seemed to be able to distinguish a Korean from a Chinese.

Climbing the stairs slowly, he made sure none of them made too much noise. Their room was the first one, and he forwent the knock and just opened the door as quietly as he could. The space behind it was small, barely enough to fit two beds. Two _empty_ beds. 

Billy cursed, turned on his heels and bolted down the stairs.

 

-

 

The man was built like a barrel, with beefy legs and a thick, blood-red cock. He pounded loudly on the wall, rattling it, and Goodnight, already impatient, jerked his fingers out of his ass and crouched down in front of the hole. The man had drawn back, obviously wanting to be in charge of the proceedings, and Goodnight – too needy to care either way - backed up until he could feel the rough wood against his butt.

A hand brushed his entrance, thumb dipping briefly inside, nail catching on the rim. Goodnight shuddered and licked his lips – rough, worker's hands, and a cock like a stallion. This was a man who knew how to fuck. Hopefully. Because even though it hadn't been that long, Goodnight knew he needed it badly.

Something blunter than a finger poked his hole, stretching the muscle until it gave. Goodnight's breath hitched in anticipation, and he pushed back, whimpering when he realized that he couldn't move any further because the wall was right behind him.

The stranger chuckled – a low, rough sound – and murmured something Goodnight didn't quite catch. It could have been an endearment, or a curse. All of a sudden, the man's hips thrust forward, hard and fast, and most of his cock was in before Goodnight had a chance to react. He had to stifle a yelp against his hand – the girth was massive, he hadn't been prepared enough, Christ, it felt like being speared by a tree trunk.

Goodnight tried to inch forward, and nearly choked on panic when he found that he couldn't. He'd been in such a hurry he had barely pulled his pants down enough to shove two fingers in, and the man had squeezed his hand through the hole beneath his massive cock, holding him by the back of his trousers.

Realizing that he was trapped, Goodnight started to struggle. The man behind him laughed out loud and jerked roughly as he thrust in again.

Goodnight bit his fingers to muffle his scream.

 

-

 

Billy was fighting not to panic by the time he reached the shed. It had taken longer than usual to shake its location out of the saloon's barkeeper, mostly because the man had been grinning dirtily ever time Billy rephrased his question. In the end, he let his knives get the answer from the man. It was a struggle to leave some breath in the man's body, but he was left alive in favor of finding Goodnight.

The place men of this town went to when they needed a different kind of relief was a small, unused shed behind the brothel, which was alarmingly easy to reach. Not a safe place for such pursuits, even less during the daytime. Billy ground his teeth. _Damn it, Goody, what where you thinking?_

He had almost reached the door when he heard it: a deep, appreciative moan. Billy froze, hand suspended in midair. Coldness punched through his gut. That was not Goodnight.

A grunt floated through the door, accompanied by a soft whimper that sounded very much like pain. The unknown man whistled, delighted. “Mary, thank God for sluts like you.”

Something ugly twisted inside Billy, sinking its claws into his insides, tinting his vision red. He didn't even hear the heavy footfalls until the door opened right into his face. Billy jerked backwards as the man exiting the shed let out a startled yell. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“What have you done to him, you disgusting bastard?” Not waiting for an answer, Billy swung wide and tried to deck him. But the man was fast and, as it turned out, not a stranger to brawls. The man dodged Billy's fist, jumped to tackle him and pulled them both to the ground.

Usually Billy could use his swiftness to turn a fight in his favor, but once his opponent got a hold on him, his slender built turned into a major disadvantage. The man pinned Billy's arms, hooked his elbow under his jaw and leaned on it. His breath smelled of chewing tobacco as he bend down, menace in his eyes. “Now, listen to me. I have never been here. If you ever, ever breathe a word about this, I will find you, and I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

Billy gasped for air, feeling his throat close up. The pressure intensified.

“Do you _understand_ , Johnny?”

Vision blurring, Billy nodded. The man grinned toothily and raised his fist.

 

-

 

Trembling, Goodnight pressed his face to the floor. His legs were shaking, knees scratching painfully on the hard wood, ass still raised but thankfully away from the hole in the wall. His whole lower body was throbbing painfully, and every time he tried to move, stinging pain sliced through his loins. Focusing on his breathing, Goodnight began to count in his head – in Korean, because it was a language he barely knew and had to concentrate on. It took a while, but the world finally spun slower. He could hear faint noises from outside, but he was too out of it to care. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that if someone found him like this, he was a dead man. The world would be better for it.

Goodnight curled in on himself. God, he had done it again. Billy had told him to sleep, and instead he had snuck out to... to...

He heaved dryly, tasting vomit on the back of his tongue, but nothing came out. Not that he deserved that kind of relief, anyway. The devils would have their fun juggling his insides, because he would definitely go to hell for this. He could hear them laughing, just as that man had laughed.

Cum trickled down his thighs, cooling quickly despite the sticky heat of the shed. Carefully, he reached back and brushed a fingertip down the crack of his ass. It came back bloody.

 

-

 

Goodnight could still feel spunk leaking out of him as he limped up the stairs much later. It didn't bleed any more, but the stiffness in his body reminded him of days he spend crawling through cold, muddy trenches. His eyes felt swollen and dry, he had spent the afternoon lying on the floor crying like a baby. When the light coming in beneath the door had turned orange, he'd finally dared to pull up his pants and stand up gingerly, clutching the wall and getting splinters into his fingers. That would've been a convenient excuse for the blood, but he washed his hands in a horse trough anyway.

But no matter how much he scrubbed, they would never feel clean again. God, every step hurt. Careful not to move his legs out too far, he shuffled to the door, reaching for the handle when it was jerked open roughly.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Goodnight flinched. “I've... what happened to you?”

Billy, looking pristine and aloof this morning, was covered in mud and sporting a rather impressive black eye. His jacket and vest were gone and his shirt hung open. Droplets of water were running down his almost hairless, bronze-tanned chest. Behind him, a basin of brown water stood on the table by the bed.

“Seriously, Billy, where's that from?”

“Why are you limping?”

“Answer my question!”

Billy narrowed his eyes, and slammed the door shut behind Goodnight. “If you don't talk, I won't either,” he snarled. He turned back to cleaning up and ignored Goodnight for the rest of the night. Somehow, the rejection hurt more than his body.

 

-

 

_Dawn seemed to come late, the sun peeking shyly over the horizon. No sound rang out, not even a bird's twitter, the anticipation of battle heavy in the air. The chime of the bells was almost a relief, after hours of crouching here. From his vantage point on the hill, Goodnight could see them coming – flags first, the eagle on blue, then the soldiers that would be dead within the next hour. There was a warning shout beneath him, from allied lines. In his head, he counted down the seconds until the cannon –_

BANG.

Goodnight shot up in his bed with a start, and maybe a shriek, ears ringing and disoriented. Heart in his throat, he grabbed frantically for his rifle, but his fingers only found empty air. There was another thud, muffled, and definitely not a cannon. Blinking, the inn's room swam into focus. Billy was already awake, hands flying to his knives as the door burst open.

Four men came in, one of them wearing a silver star on his sleeve. All of them were armed. “Hands up, boys!” the sheriff yelled, “Get your paws away from them toothpicks, Chinaman.”

Billy bristled, but relaxed his hands. One of the other guys pulled the knives out of his reach.

“Hold on,” Goodnight slurred, blinking rapidly to chase away the last tendrils of the dream. “What's goin' on?”

“I'm sorry for this inconvenience, Mr. Robicheaux, but this fella here,” the sheriff pointed at Billy, “well, how do I... one of my boys had some things to say about him. Cuff him, lads.”

Two of the deputies stepped forward. One of them was holding an iron handcuff. They were moving oddly careful, although none of them appeared injured, trying not to touch Billy as they motioned for him to hold out his hands.

Billy glanced at Goodnight, who shrugged helplessly and turned to the sheriff. “'xcuse me, Sir, but I don't understand at all.” He watched the men cuff Billy's wrists with unease. “Did he get into a fight or somethin'?”

The sheriff barked out a laugh. “If it were just that.” He waved his gun towards the door. “Take him down to the office.”

Goodnight stood up, not caring that he was only in his underwear. “Sheriff, excuse my manners, but you need to have a very good reason to drag my associate who hasn't done anything wrong out here like a pig on a leash.”

“Hasn't done anything?” The sheriff repeated slowly. “Mr. Robicheaux, this man has been accused of sodomy. By _multiple_ witnesses!”

All color drained from Goodnight's face. Memories from the previous day flooded his mind – the pain and the panic, and that fat, red cock. That couldn't have been Billy, Goodnight had seen him bathe naked often enough to _know_ it.

“Just yesterday, actually,” the sheriff continued, but Goodnight barely heard him. 

“By who?” he asked, voice faltering. He swallowed, but his mouth was dry. “Who thinks he's seen him?”

“One of my deputies. Jack's his name. You'll meet him later, probably,” the sheriff said. “We have ta go now.”

He pointed towards the door and the men began to file out, dragging Billy along. Over his shoulder, he cast a pleading look at Goodnight.

“Wait! He... whatever he...” Goodnight stammered. “It couldn't have been Billy. He was with me the whole evening.”

The sheriff sighed, and motioned for his deputies to move along. They disappeared through the door with their captive. Then he turned to Goodnight. “I don't know why you're trying to protect scum like him, but if I were you, I'd stop it. We can't let anyone get away with such depravity. My boy knows what he's seen, and there is only one... like him in this town. Slit-eye. _Chinese_.”

“Korean,” Goodnight corrected, to the emptiness of the room.

 

-

 

Goodnight stormed into the lawman's office not half an hour later, fully dressed, rifle swung over his shoulder, eyes blazing. “I demand to know what's happening now, sheriff, and by God and my name, I will not take 'no' for an answer!”

It felt good to yell like this. To turn up his nose like the arrogant Southerner he had been once. Another man entirely, a different _life_ on some days, but he had to hand it to his former self: confidence had never been an issue.

Billy was sitting behind bars in a niche that was not much bigger than half a dinner table, hands still cuffed, looking vaguely annoyed.

The sheriff looked up from his desk and frowned. “We have valid confirmation, Mr. Robicheaux. The Marshal is already on his way.”

The _Marshal_. Something icy settled in Goodnight's chest. He tried not to let it show on his face. “Valid confirmation? Everything you gain under torture is worthless, sheriff, you know that.”

“I might, the people don't. And we don't need to torture him, we have witnesses. As I told you before.” The sheriff's eyes narrowed. “Anything else?”

Goodnight pressed his lips together. His skin was tingling, _itching_ to do something. “You didn't answer my question.”

“There is only one thing to do now, Mr. Robicheaux, and you know that.”

Yes, he did. Goddamn, he _did_.

Goodnight turned to Billy. “I want to talk to him.”

“No,” said the sheriff.

“I rode with this _son of a bitch_ for month, sheriff,” Goodnight shouted and his heart ached when he saw Billy's eyes widen. He ignored it, pointing his rifle at the door.

The sheriff scrutinized him, his blue gaze cold like steel. Then he turned to his deputies, jerking his head. “You have five minutes.”

The second the door fell shut behind him, Goodnight rushed to the cell. “Gosh, Billy, what the hell were you doing? The whole town is in an uproar, it seems like it! The barkeeper from the saloon says he saw you in a shed where... where men...” he made a vague gesture with his hands, not wanting to say it outright. Somehow, even thinking about Billy doing that made him feel sick. He leaned his forehead against the bars. “Please, Billy, tell me it wasn't you, doing these unspeakable–”

Billy's black eyes didn't meet his. “I wasn't there. You know that.”

“Of course I know!” Goodnight couldn't quite hide the sheer relief in his voice. “There's no way you'd ever commit such a repugnant act! But the townspeople –”

Suddenly, Billy was right in front of him, hands curling around the bars right atop Goodnight's, who could barely suppress a gasp. His breath was warm on Goodnight's face.

“You _know_ I wasn't there, Goody.”

“I –”

And then the penny dropped.

Goodnight stumbled backwards as if burned, ripping his hands out from under Billy's. “No,” he whispered, frozen in shock. “No.”

Billy said nothing, just looked at him with that unreadable expression in his eyes – soft, fondly... God, was that _pity_? Goodnight could feel something clench in his gut, as if someone had reached an icy fist inside him, grabbing his innards and _twisted_. The emptiness in his mind was flooded with thoughts, one tumbling over the other, shouting to be heard. _It can't be, **should never** , warm stranger's touches, **Billy can't know** , dirty, **impossible** , please..._ – 

“Talk to the sheriff,” Billy's voice cut clearly through the roar in Goodnight's ears. 

Shots rang out, the bark of a cannon. There was blood on his hands, on his _fingertips_. “No, he–” 

“You can make him believe you.”

“No!” Goodnight shouted, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. He felt hollow, punched-through, as if a bullet had torn out his insides. _This is my fault._

“It's the only way you can get me out,” Billy said, somewhere in the distance. Always so annoyingly calm.

“This is my fault,” Goodnight whispered, to no one in particular.

“Goody...”

Goodnight shook his head and ran.

 

-

 

They dragged Billy out mid afternoon, the sun high in a spotless sky. People were waiting outside the office – men and women, even children. A man he didn't know was waiting for him, bearded and a bit round in the middle, dressed in an expensive black suit with a lot of buttons. He was wiping his face with a white handkerchief, a useless gesture, and his gray eyes swept quickly over Billy, careful not to linger. The sheriff tipped his hat at the man, mouth curling up in a crooked smile. “Marshal.”

Two of the deputies pushed Billy onto his knees between them, hands cuffed behind his back, and he could feel the muzzle of a gun prodding his neck.

The Marshal raised his hand, and the people fell quiet. He cleared his throat. “Dear citizens of Whisperrise, as many of you have heard already, there has been a crime against nature in this city, which cannot go unpunished.”

Straight to the point, Billy thought dryly, feeling the eyes of the crowd upon him. None of them looked particularly friendly, although the kids' seemed more curious than hostile. But all the cool neutrality these people had offered him had evaporated once and for all.

“This man,” the Marshal continued, pointing at Billy, “has been accused of sodomizing with another man in a shed behind the... in a shed. He has been seen by Jack, the sheriff's deputy. Does anyone else of you good people know about this?”

A murmur ran through the crowd. “Saw him choke Rob to death yesterday,” a voice called. “Got all angry, used his knives. Wanted to know where it was. The shed.”

The Marshal nodded. “Yes, I spoke to Rob. What you say is true. Anyone else?”

A few other people spoke up, most of which Billy hadn't seen once but who claimed to have seen him, running around town threatening people. One presented a fresh wound on his hand, shouting that Billy had attacked him out of nowhere while he was cutting wood. Even the sheriff rolled his eyes at that, but let it slide.

Billy ignored the ramblings and tried to spot Goodnight in the crowd. It had hurt to watch him leave earlier, locked behind bars and not being able to follow him. Billy had become accustomed to following Goodnight, and had thought... no, had _hoped_ , he would at least be here. Have his back. But maybe that was too much to hope for, after his reveal earlier.

The Marshal quieted the crowd again. “Jack, what do you have to say about this?”

There was the sound of shuffling behind Billy, and then the floorboards creaked beneath his knees. “It's just as they say, Sir, Marshal,” a grating, male voice said, and Billy didn't have to turn to see it was the guy from yesterday. “I came round to the shed, tryin' to find out if I would store me firewood there this winter, since it's so close to my house. That's when I saw him there, all... exposed and bend over, if you excuse my expression. 'course I thought that can't be, no real man would do that, no matter where he's from, maybe I saw wrong. So I went up to him to ask what he was doing and he punched me!”

Gasps came from the crowd.

“Well, I couldn't let that go, so I punched him back, as you can see.” Jack continued, and Billy could hear the smirk in his voice. He was obviously enjoying the attention.

“And there is no doubt about what you have seen, Jack?” the sheriff inquired.

“No, Sir.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“I dunno, Sir, if, he was behind a wall.” There was a rustle of clothing as Jack shrugged. “Probably ran away when he heard me punching the Chinaman.”

All eyes turned to Billy.

The Marshal nudged his boot against Billy's knee. “Who was there with you?”

Billy met his gaze dead on and didn't reply. Beside him, the sheriff cocked his own gun. “Tell him, Johnny, or you won't live to see the gallows.”

“Maybe it was his friend?” Jack suggested, stepping past Billy and shielding his eyes as he scanned the crowd. “The one who's real protective 'bout him? Said they rode together, makes one wonder what they do all those long, lonely nights out there.”

Billy jumped to his feet, taking the deputies by surprise, and dodged both guns. A shot rang out, bullet burying itself in the wood where Billy had been. But he knew that with his hands cuffed like this, he wouldn't get far. He turned to the Marshal, who reared back, wide-eyed.

“No. I didn't see who it was, but it wasn't him.”

“That's a confession!” Jack yelled. “He's guilty, you all heard it, he's _guilty_!”

 _Goody, now might be the right time to intervene_ , Billy thought mutely, struggling as he was dragged back to his knees on the porch. 

The Marshal wiped his brow again. “As you can all see, there is no doubt that this man is indeed guilty. And buggery, by law, allows only one verdict: death by the noose.”

The crowd exploded in uproar. Billy could see a woman fainting. Behind her, a pale face peered at him from the corner of the closest building. It was Goodnight. He was holding two leather straps in his hands. _Reins._

As soon as Goodnight noticed Billy looking at him, he cast down his eyes, and melted into the shadows.

Cold numbness settled in Billy's gut. He almost didn't hear the Marshal finalizing the verdict. “He will face his punishment at sunrise.”

 

-

 

Dust burned in Goodnight's lungs as he finally allowed his horse to slow down. It felt like he'd been loping for ages, but it couldn't have been that long, the animal wasn't even sweating. So far, he hadn't dared to look back once, for fear of seeing the town behind him again – the clean houses, the crooked bell tower, the sheriff's office and children gathering to look at the tree.

The _sling_.

Abruptly, Goodnight halted his horse. The sudden stop was uncomfortable, his backside still hurt. He swallowed, shifting slightly, and finally turned to look over his shoulder. The town was nowhere in sight.

He couldn't suppress the soft exhale of relief. He wouldn't have to watch Billy die tomorrow. Kind, beautiful Billy who took the bullet meant for Goodnight, without even _trying_ to save his own life. Loyal to the bitter end.

And what was Goodnight doing, right now, while the only real friend he had ever had awaited his death in a cell stinking of piss and vomit? The one man who still rode with him, even when he _knew_ about the... the... _need_. Goodnight ground his teeth. He hadn't even gotten a chance to ask Billy if he ever... helped out. Although he was almost sure, remembering recognition through the haze of lust, fleeting thoughts immediately discarded by virtue of impossibility.

_God, what a coward I am._

 

-

 

The office lay dark. There was no illumination except for the stars, clouds blotting out the moon. Goodnight's boots clicked on the porch, reminding him of all the dark corners he'd hid in. But this felt different, thrilling even. He cocked his rifle, feeling the trigger pulse beneath his fingertip, almost _calling_ to him.

The two deputies jerked up from their slouch against the wall, hands halfway down to their guns when Goodnight's first shot hit the wall between them. “Hands up, _right now_.”

Carefully, they did as told. Goodnight didn't lower the gun. “You, there. The one with the big mouth. Jack, right?”

Jack nodded. 

“You got handcuffs on you, too?”

“Y-yes!”

“Cuff your friend. If any of you move even a muscle, I will blast your brains across that wall in a second. You've heard my name, you know I can.” He allowed himself a small smile, showing his teeth. “It's been a long time since I last shot Union scum like you.”

Jack paled, scrambling to do as he was told. Once the other man was securely cuffed, Goodnight took another step into the room. “Very good. Now, knock him out.”

“What?!”

“You seem good at punching, and I don't feel like it.”

“That's my brother!”

Goodnight raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Both deputies stared at him for a moment, then Jack turned to his brother, flinching. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, and punched. The man's skull hit the wall with a crack, and he slid to the floor, motionless.

Jack clenched his fists. “What now?”

“Right,” Goodnight began. “Since you can't very well knock yourself out... open the cuffs and use them on you. Oh, and while you're at it, toss the key onto the table.”

Once Jack was done – keys clattering numbly on a stack of paperwork – Goodnight shifted his grip on the gun, walked over and clubbed Jack over the head. He went down like a sack of bricks. Goodnight made sure they both were unconscious, then stumbled to the wall and fell to his knees just before reaching it, retching violently.

He remained there until the world stopped spinning, then stood up, scooped the keys up from the table and walked over to Billy's cell. “How long?”

“Let me out.”

“How _long_ , Billy,” Goodnight repeated flatly.

Billy's face didn't betray any emotion. “Did you really expect something like that to remain your secret when you were so obvious about it?”

Goodnight felt all color drain from his face. “Did you –,” he began, horrified, but stopped, because he already knew the answer. The thought came unbidden. Oh God, he had let Billy fuck him. And he had pushed back eagerly, like he couldn't ever get enough cock up his ass, writhing out of his mind with bliss.

Even worse than that: he had _made_ Billy do it. Because he had thought himself so secure in his ability to sneak around unnoticed. Billy didn't have any other choice than picking up the slack.

The key slipped out of Goodnight's trembling hands, clinking to the floor. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, almost soundless. “I'm so sorry.”

He didn't see Billy shuffle around until he could grab the keys, and didn't consciously hear him bend the metal until he could pick the lock of the door with it. What he did feel, sometime later, was Billy shoving him up to the table. His hand closed around Goodnight's throat. “Shut up, right now! What I did was to keep you safe, and I _won't_ be another reason for you to scourge yourself.”

He stepped back, taking the rifle with him. “If you want to cling to your shame, do it. But I want no part in it. Farewell, Goody.”

Without another word, he slipped out the door, and Goodnight knew this was the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor boys, I almost feel sorry for them. ^^°
> 
> I've been prompted to write them both a "Happy End", so there _will_ be a third part. If there's anything else you would like to see in this 'verse, leave a comment/send me a message/post it on the kink meme, and I'll try to include it ;-)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
